


Covalent Bonds

by ManicMoose



Series: The Scientific Method [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John Watson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Bonding, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, One Shot, POV Sherlock Holmes, consensual omegaverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 18:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManicMoose/pseuds/ManicMoose
Summary: It’s different this time, than that first accidental heat, when they conceived their son, or all the times they’ve made love since. This time is deliberate and carefully prepared for— neither of them have any desire to provide Alfie with a sibling, after all.This time they’re going tobond.





	Covalent Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of the one year anniversary of my completion of A Volatile Solution, and with it, the Scientific Method series- the first installment was my very first Sherlock fanwork, and the series itself was the very first I completed! I never expected it to have more than, like, 5 readers, and it blows my mind that I still get notifications on the series even to this day. A quick, slightly steamy little one-shot to give the series the bonding it never got, and break that 100k mark that's mocked me since I finished haha. I finally feel a sense of closure, and like I can put this series well and truly to bed. (Pun unintended, but enjoyed!)
> 
> Same "tweaked and muted" omegaverse caveats apply as to my other A/B/O works!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read, kudosed and left such incredibly kind comments. This is for you!

“And there’s his favourite blanket in the side pocket, and his bumble over here. Those biscuits that he likes in the front, and —”

“Yes, love, I think he’ll be alright,” John cuts Sherlock off. “He’s going to stay at Mycroft’s for a few _days_, not a fortnight. I’m sure if he runs out of applesauce, or some such, one of your brother’s many minions can pop out to the shops and buy more.”

“It’s just…”

“I know,” John steps close and reaches up to squeeze the back of Sherlock’s neck reassuringly. “Trust me, I know.”

They look down at where Alfie is happily bashing his blocks together on the rug, completely oblivious to his omega father’s anxiety.

“Thanks again Mrs. H,” John smiles gratefully at their landlady. “We really appreciate this.”

“Oh, of course boys! It’s no bother. No bother at all! Alfie loves to spend time with his Gran, don’t you, Poppet?” She bends down to ruffles the toddler’s riotous chestnut curls, and he gummily beams up at her before resuming his game. “Mycroft said that he’ll be sending a car round for him at half past. Now you go on— enjoy yourselves! From the smell of it, you don’t have much longer to be out!” She winks knowingly, “And don’t worry about the noise when you get home— I went out and bought myself a pair of earplugs.”

Sherlock opens his mouth to reply, but John’s claps his palm over it.

“Alright then,” he quickly interjects, face blotching red with embarrassment. “We’d best be off.”

* * *

As they make their way down the sidewalk, alphas sniff the air and turn their heads to stare appreciatively at Sherlock as they pass. In the face of such disconcerting attention, he flips up his coat collar and burrows deeper down into it. Angelo, thankfully, has more tact that that.

Though he does pointedly light the candle on their table with a grin, and brings out a lovely bottle of wine for them; “on the house!”

Sherlock jolts with surprise when he feels a socked foot brush his ankle, working itself beneath the hem of his trousers. Heat floods his cheeks, and across the table, John smiles innocently over the rim of his glass as he sips his wine.

It’s different this time, than that first accidental heat, when they conceived their son, or all the times they’ve made love since. This time is deliberate and carefully prepared for— neither of them have any desire to provide Alfie with a sibling, after all.

This time they’re going to _bond._

For the rest of his life, everyone is going to know that he and John belong to one another.

It sends a frisson of nervous energy up his spine, and he shivers slightly, reaching for his own glass to take a bracing gulp.

As the night wears on, the food, candlelight and wine weave a cocoon of cosy intimacy around them. Looking across the table at John; warm and relaxed, face a touch red from the heat of the restaurant and — more likely— the third glass of wine he’s started in on, Sherlock’s awareness of the other diners gradually fades, until he could almost forget there’s anyone else around them.

He’s struck for a moment by the memory of a very different night.

His first one home after his time away; when he'd watched from the sidelines as John had fidgeted in his seat across from another omega, fretting about their son at home. The ice-cold shock of seeing her reach out to touch what he instinctively knew to be _his._

But it hadn’t been.

He’d been foolish. Taken what he’d had for granted, and never fully staked his claim. His brother had warned him, but he'd brushed it off— hadn't given the true thought to the potential risk or consequences of his decision.

And so he'd left to go dismantle a spider's web; no bond in place to tie him and John together.

_Six months_.

Six long, irreplaceable months of his precious child's smiles, and tears, and laughter.

Six months of John learning to live without him, until he’d finally begun to consider the benefits of a bond with Mary Morstan, the sweet omega nurse from his work. One of convenience perhaps, rooted in mutual regard rather than love, but a bond nonetheless.

Sherlock had gone to protect them, yes. But the cost had almost been too much to bear.

Somehow they’d made it past all that; somehow John had forgiven him, and they’d made it back to here. To this bone-deep surety of their love for one another. If he believed in a higher power, he’d be down on his knees, fervently giving thanks for this second chance.

How strange it is, that he’d once thought of bonding as the very height of subjugation. Not a physical act of dedication or devotion. Just a way for an alpha to keep him under their thumb; show the world that their ownership of him.

But now, with this man, nothing else even comes close to being _enough_.

He’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

* * *

By the time they get home to Baker Street, his heat has well and truly set in. It's all that he can do to keep his hands — and his mouth — to himself the entire drive. The moment their cab pulls up to the kerb, he springs from the back, bolting inside with the single minded focus of getting upstairs to their bedroom and out of his clothes. He's perched on the edge of their bed, making short work of his shirt buttons in an effort to free himself from the increasingly suffocating embrace of it’s fabric when John finally appears. He lingers in the doorway of the bedroom, his hesitance betraying an uncharacteristic fit of nervousness.

“We don’t heave to you know,” he says quietly. “If you’re having second thoughts. It’s a big commitment, this, and…”

Sherlock rises smoothly and crosses the room in three long steps; pulling John into his arms, and pressing their lips together without hesitation.

“I want to,” he affirms, murmuring the words against John’s lips, “I want all of London to know that I belong to you."

"Come,” he beckons, pulling John backward toward the bed with him. When the backs of his legs bump up against the mattress he drops to sit, and John steps into the welcoming vee of his legs seamlessly. He pulls John down for another kiss, as his hands creep between them, setting to work on John’s belt. When he finally pushes aside the files of John’s trousers and palms the growing erection tenting the front of the plain, serviceable cotton pants beneath, John pulls back with a hiss.

"God, I want you" he growls, tangling a hand in Sherlock's curls, using it to tug his head backward and expose the long arch of his neck. "I always want you so badly."

Sherlock gasps, his own groin throbbing with an answering rush of desire.

"Than have me.”

* * *

Some time later, their bodies are slick with sweat and minds long past the point of doubt, or any other thoughts past those of base desire. Sherlock spreads his knees further apart on the bed sheets, moaning at the inexplicably arousing sensation of his hips straining at the angle as John takes him from behind.

"Like that?" John questions a touch breathlessly, their bodies slapping together lewdly as he thrusts.

Sherlock nods his head tremulously as words fail him, tilting his hips even further upward; presenting himself for the taking. John takes the encouragement for what it is, driving into him deeper and harder. The heat is just as overwhelming this time as the last, if not more; he has no reason this time, to hide or deny the depth of his desire for the alpha above him. Bracing himself on one hand, he reaches down to where his painfully hard little cock bounces in the air beneath him with every thrust. Wrapping his hand around it, he tugs, moaning in time with every jarring thrust.

"J-John, John, John."

He loses himself in it; John's scent thick on the air, the small, strong hands gripping his hips, the thick alpha cock filling him up, and the swollen knot already beginning to tease his entrance with each thrust. The realization takes a moment to dawn on him through the haze of lust.

_The knot._

They've left it far longer than they should have— here isn't much time left now for what they need to do. He gathers himself together as much as possible, releasing his cock to push himself up from the mattress.

"John," he cries out urgently, reaching back to paw ineffectually in the direction of John's head. The alpha's hips falter as he too clearly arrives at the same realization.

"_Shit," _he hisses briefly, slowing his hips down entirely. His left hand leaves Sherlock's hip to reach last his cock and between his legs; searching fingers stroking the hot, slippery entrance stretched out around his own hugely swollen cock. "You're so wet," he marvels, and his moan of approval joins Sherlock's broken one as he gives a small twitch of his hips and feels himself slip deeper beneath his fingers. "You feel so ready. Are you ready?" He asks, hand sliding upward from Sherlock's slit to gently squeeze his small cock.

"Y-yes," Sherlock pants, bearing down with his inner muscles to squeeze John in turn, making the alpha hiss appreciatively.

This part is a touch difficult — the height difference between them somewhat of an inconvenience — but they know each others bodies so well now that they manage to arrange their limbs in the right position with little interruption. Once their in place, John resumes a steady pace, carefully rocking into the omegas body.

“God, I love you,” John pants against the skin of his shoulder, and Sherlock pushes back against him in a wordless plea. And then his teeth are there, bearing down hard, sinking into Sherlock’s neck as he simultaneously presses his knot home.

It’s _incandescent_.

Sherlock clutches desperately at the arm wrapped securely about his shoulders, and cries out as his own orgasm slams into him like a runaway lorry.

Once the paroxysms have passed, they manage to coordinate an awkward roll onto their sides; a more comfortable position to wait in until the knot tying them together subsides. John sets his mouth to the fresh bite immediately, carefully laving the wound with his alpha saliva— with it's opiorphin to relieve the pain, and enzymes to help prevent infection and ensure the smooth, distinctive scar of a bondbite. Sherlock's almost drifted off to sleep by the time John finally eaves off his careful tending of the bite and settles, hooking his chin over Sherlock's shoulder cosily.

“Well, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock rumbles patting clumsily at the forearm looped around his middle. “Or perhaps it’s you who’s stuck with _me._ Could be dangerous._"_

John's arms tighten around him briefly and a firm, lingering kiss is pressed into his shoulder.

“Aren’t I a lucky sod then,” John murmurs. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Unable to roll over to face his new mate, Sherlock presses himself backward as best he’s able, turning his head to nuzzle at John’s cheek.

“The feeling, I can assure you my dear Dr. Watson, is entirely mutual.”


End file.
